Complications
by DJ Sparkles
Summary: What happens when a hunt goes bad? The boys are about to find out... and it's not pleasant. Rated M for language and crude humor. No pairing. Not Slash. ON HOLD INDEFINITELY.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)  
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock.  
Beta: Ithil-valon, and Joe. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?  
Pairings: None so far.

"_Greater love hath no man than he lay down his life for a friend." John 15:13_

**Part One**

This was just NOT his day. Dean Winchester pulled back from the werewolf and backed up quickly. Just a simple job, get in, kill the thing, get out, burn the den. Yeah. Right. Since when did he and Sam EVER manage to do something the simple way?

He backed away again when it came at him, but it caught a scent on the wind and paused and Dean was able to put half the room between them. As well as a few pieces of furniture. "Sammy, this would be a good time to find that shotgun!"

Sam growled back at him as the werewolf swung his direction. "I've GOT the damn gun, bro, just hold it still!" There was an explosive discharge and the rock salt pellets in the thing took the wolf full in the chest… which only made it mad. It roared rage and headed across the room, murder in its eyes.

Dean launched himself at it, silver knives flashing, drawing blood and trying to stab it in the neck, but it wasn't cooperating. Stupid fucking werewolf. He had to keep it away from Sam. "Where's the SILVER?" he hollered.

"Not in the damn gun!" Sam was backing away as fast as possible. It was close enough to swipe one huge horrific paw at him; so he lunged away and landed on his ass. Not good.

Dean had to keep it away from his brother. He launched himself forward, landing on its back, slashing with the knives, desperate to take its attention off Sam. Everything he'd ever done, he'd done to protect Sammy. He wasn't about to stop now. "Get out, Sam!" If he could just keep it distracted, at least his brother would get away. Then he forgot to concentrate on anything else when the monster ripped him off its back and dropkicked him across the room. He slammed against the wall with a yell and landed hard, breath knocked out of him. He scrambled aside as it reached for him, but no luck. NOT his day.

Dimly he saw Sam headed out the door and kicked back, winning another throw across the room in the process. He got groggily to his feet, shaking his head, and caught it out of the corner of his eye as it followed Sam out of the house. Oh, HELL no!

One of the knives flashed in the moonlight as it flew outward, striking the thing in the shoulder as Dean catcalled it from the upstairs window. "You can't have him!" he roared as he launched himself at it. He had to buy Sam enough time to get to the car. The monster could probably tear the door off… but the silver bullets were in the back seat. At least he'd have a chance.

The wolf spun as Dean leapt, and the two of them crashed together with driving force. Dean rolled with the impact, coming up fast, one knife short, one leg a solid sheet of pain from hip to ankle, but not giving up. He had to keep it occupied till Sam got the ammo. He feinted with the knife, keeping its attention on him.

He managed too well. The wolf ripped the other blade from its shoulder with a scream of rage and flung it back toward Dean, who dived to one side to avoid it. Then it had hold of him by the ankle and while he scrambled to get hold of something, it was drawing him backward with a snarl of something he didn't want to identify.

It sounded hungry.

He didn't yell, he_screamed_ when it clamped teeth around his calf. The pain was real, immediate, and intense for more than just the feel of the teeth and he gave vent to his fury in the only way he knew how. He stabbed the knife into the thing's neck with an incoherent curse and sent it staggering backward, bleeding out. Then dimly he heard Sam's voice telling him to duck and he curled up in a ball as the shotgun blast went over his head.

The silver did the trick; it was dead. Very, very dead. No pulse, no breathing, nothing. Dean crawled forward and checked it thoroughly and then just collapsed to his back for a minute, gasping for breath. "Why can't anything be simple?" he grumbled.

"Because we're involved, that's why." Sam was doing what needed to be done now, burning the house and the body, and Dean needed to get up and help him, but it felt a lot better to just lie there and try to breathe. And not worry about the pain in his mangled leg. Or the consequences.

Holy water. Holy water cured just about anything to do with the supernatural. He hauled out the canteen as fast as he could, splashing it over the wound and biting down on the scream when it hit the torn flesh. Then choking down as much of it as he could, trying to fight the infection from inside and out although the thought that death would hurt less hovered at the back of his mind.

Sam's arms came around from behind, supporting him while he retched and struggled to keep the stuff down. "Easy, bro. We need to get you to Bobby. He can help." Not bloody likely, but they needed some hope. Werewolf bites were automatically a death sentence. The cursed couldn't distinguish between friend and foe once they changed and usually cut a bloody swath through the innocent until a hunter stopped them.

Dean fumbled in his pocket for a second before hauling out his keys. "You… drive," he rasped. "I'll keep pouring in the holy water. Gotta help, right?"

"Right." Sam was seriously worried. Dean _never_ let him drive the Impala if there was a choice. The leg was bad, but the fact that it was a werewolf bite made it that much worse. The moon was still full and it wouldn't be dawn for another three or four hours. If Dean turned… would he be able to do what needed done? He didn't know.

Fact was, they didn't know much about werewolves at all. Conflicting legends, different interpretations of the curse, it all added up to one big, fat, zero. The only thing that all accounts seemed to agree on was that once someone turned, they wanted to kill. Period. And it didn't matter what they killed, as long as they found something to tear up. Hopefully Bobby would know more.

"Sammy," Dean rasped from the passenger seat. "Don't be a wuss, okay? If you have to… you do it." He could feel something changing, despite the holy water, and while he was still pouring it down his throat he no longer thought it would work. It might hold the change off for a while, but probably not long enough. And he knew Sam would understand what he was asking.

"Shut up, jerk. I'm not gonna kill you." Sam felt his jaw clench. "Bobby'll help, just hold on. Hang on, bro."

"I'm trying, bitch." But even their usual banter was lacking in enthusiasm. Dean could feel something twisting inside him, trying to get out, and he grabbed another canteen of the water from the back seat. He poured most of it on the outside of the leg, drenching the bite again, and choking off the scream before it could get too far out of his throat, then guzzling as much as he could of what was left. He felt like he was on a determined drunk, just with the water instead of the usual whiskey. "How long to Bobby's?"

"Too long." Sam could have bitten off his tongue for letting that escape. "Been trying to get him on the phone, he's not answering."

"Probably on a hunt of his own. Dammit!" Dean was turning the air blue, trying to keep up the pain relief. Swearing seemed to help, so he was doing a lot of it. His head was buzzing, his guts were churning, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to make it till dawn. Dying would feel pretty good about now, he thought. It wouldn't hurt so much.

Sam risked a glance over at his brother and winced. Things were looking bad. Dean was more than pale, he was almost translucent in the moonlight. Not good. "Does that help?"

"Not with the pain… but it makes me feel better." Dean was surly and snarky and didn't care. It _hurt._ And he was starting to feel decidedly weird on top of it. He was sure he could smell Sam's fear, and that wasn't normal. He got a glimpse of his hand as he tipped up the canteen again and growled. "Shit! Sam, stop!" He didn't wait for the tires to come to rest; he was out of the car and moving, clutching at his stomach, gasping for breath, and trying to get into the tree line before it was too late.

Sam threw himself out of the car right behind him, trying to stay close, but not able to keep up. "Dean, wait!" But the snarl from the trees stopped him in his tracks.

Dean had felt the change coming on, seen it on his hand, and was still trying to protect his brother. But now that he was completely changed, he was seeing things a bit differently. He stepped out into the moonlight, looking at the other man, nose upturned to scent the air. The smell of fear was heady, intoxicating, and he took a step closer.

Sam held his ground though he wanted to run. The wolf was larger than average and he had no doubt it was Dean. A complete change, with three hours to go until dawn. Crap. _So_ not good. He raised a hand, palm up, and assumed what he hoped was a non-threatening stance. He kept his voice even, steady. "Dean?"

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)  
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock.  
Beta: Ithil-valon, and Joe. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?  
Pairings: None so far.

**Part Two**

Sam stared at the wolf, hand outstretched, trying to stifle the fear that threatened. All accounts of werewolves he'd read said they couldn't tell friend from foe. He was praying that they were wrong. "Come on, Dean, you know I won't hurt you." His voice was soft, non-threatening, and steady.

This was already different from the one they'd encountered earlier. That one hadn't shifted to a full wolf, not in all the time they were fighting it. Maybe it was a conscious decision how far to shift, or maybe not. Sam didn't know… but he didn't really care, either. Not right now. The focus at the moment was on Dean, and trying to keep him from trying to kill Sam.

There was shape-shifter slime all over the place, and for a moment, Sam was grateful that Dean had made it out of the car beforehand. He'd never hear the end of it if the Impala got messed up. Dean loved that car and was a little obsessive about it. No. A _lot_ obsessive.

Sam hauled his mind back to where it belonged, focusing on Dean. The wolf had made no move, and Sam was slightly encouraged. At least it wasn't trying to rip out his throat yet.

Dean was looking at things a bit differently, that was for sure. He could smell things, hear things, things he'd never dreamed of before. But Sam was here… and Sam was afraid. He shouldn't be afraid. Should he? Dean wasn't sure, and right now rational thought was a bit out of his reach. Sam was human, and human meant prey. But he smelled like pack, and you didn't hunt pack. He was confused and disoriented, and he hated that most of all. He didn't feel like himself. He raised his nose again, scenting the air, looking for answers in the smells on the breeze, and finding none. He howled, a long, mournful sound in the darkness before dawn.

Sam was encouraged by the lack of aggression on Dean's part, but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to go any closer until he was sure the wolf wouldn't try to rip him up. He had to keep it separate in his mind. That wasn't Dean. It was a werewolf. But it was getting difficult to do, especially when it was Dean's eyes staring at him from the wolf's face.

The ring of the cell phone was too loud in the darkness. Sam fished it out with one hand, keeping the other held out toward the wolf, trying not to move any more than was necessary. He flipped it open without checking the number. "Bobby, I really hope that's you," he said steadily.

"I wasn't expecting to hear from you guys yet. You get your werewolf?" Bobby's voice was the one sane point in the darkness, and Sam felt himself clinging to it.

"Not – not exactly." He kept watching the wolf, who was watching him. There was no aggression in the beast, but he wasn't taking chances. "Yeah, it's dead, but ---"

"Oh, hell. Which one of you got bit?" Bobby wasn't stupid. The only reason they'd call early, and that Sam would sound quite so unsteady, was that one of them had taken a bite. "Let me guess. Dean. And he's shifted. Did you try the holy water?"

"About two gallons of it, yeah, inside and out. It didn't work. I'm, um, I'm looking at him right now, Bobby, and he's completely shifted. He's a wolf. No aggressive behavior, though. He just keeps staring at me." Sam decided to risk a step closer and stopped when the wolf growled at him. Okay, so that wasn't the best idea in the world.

"Don't get any closer. Where are you?" Bobby was rapidly turning over possibilities in his head, trying to come up with a solution that didn't involve killing Dean. Sam would object to that pretty strenuously. The problem was, he couldn't think of any other answer. Werewolves were just too damned unpredictable, according to all the legends. He'd have to do more studying up.

Dean was still trying to make sense of all this, and not doing very well. He could smell pack scent on Sam, like his own, but he couldn't understand it. Sam was human, not pack. How could human smell like pack? He cocked his head slightly, listening to the words, but they made no sense to him.

Sam noticed the motion and stayed still, watching Dean in turn. "We're on Route 17, just outside of Schuyler. I won't be able to move until he shifts back, if he does. I'm not gonna leave him here. Dawn's about two hours off, now. If I can last that long, I'll get him back in the car and meet you. Where?"

"I'm about an hour from you, Sam, so just stay put. I'll get there fast as I can, and we can try to figure this out." He barely kept himself from saying there was nothing to figure out. They'd have to put Dean down somehow to keep him from killing someone. It was a miracle Sam wasn't already dead. Bobby was hoping to get there before it happened, but he thought it was inevitable. Whatever else, that thing wasn't Dean any more. Sam would have to face that.

Sam clicked off the phone and kept watching the wolf, considering. It almost looked like it was _listening_ to what he said. "Dean, if you're in there, hang on. Bobby's coming. We'll figure something out, okay? Just hang in there."

Dean lay down on the ground, eyes still glued to Sam. He knew this human, knew him, and he smelled like pack. He would protect the human, instead of killing. He had to. Pack protected their own.

"You _were_ listening. Dean, do you understand me? Can you understand what I'm saying? No, of course you can't." Sam answered his own question when he saw the wolf's head cock to one side again, clearly quizzical. Something had changed, though. He could feel the change with the wolf's decision to lie down on the grass. There wasn't any threat any longer. He took a step forward, and then another when all it did was look at him steadily and then lay its head down on its paws. Finally he was next to Dean and sank down to the grass as well. He didn't think about it, just laid a hand on the wolf's neck and held it there. "We'll get you out of this, bro. I promise."

**TBC…**


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)  
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock.  
Beta: Ithil-valon, River, and Joe. You ladies just ROCK, you know that? And of course, any remaining mistakes are mine.  
Pairings: None so far.

**Part Three**

Bobby Singer pulled up behind the Impala and shut off his car before getting out carefully. He was carrying a shotgun loaded with silver rounds; if the thing came at him, he'd be ready. He couldn't bring himself to think of it as Dean. Dean was gone the minute the transformation happened. This was just a wolf, a werewolf, a monster to be put down.

He was shocked, then, when he found the two of them together on the grass, fast asleep. Sam's arm was curled protectively around the wolf, and Dean's head was pillowed on Sam's chest. A touching sight, really. If you ignored the fact that Dean was a werewolf. For the first time, he considered that there might be another option.

He didn't get too close to them, anyway. Might be a bad idea if Dean woke up ugly. He should have known, though; Dean would never hurt Sam, not in a thousand years. Not if he had any part of him left in there.

He reached out with a toe and gently nudged Sam, trying to wake him carefully. He didn't want Dean to wake up first, because that could only end one way, with Dean on the wrong end of the shotgun.

Sam opened one eye and looked up, then scrambled off the ground as Dean also stirred, and then came to his feet with a growl. "Whoa, whoa, Dean, hold on," he said firmly as he got between his brother and Bobby. "He's okay, Dean, he won't hurt you. Us. Won't hurt us. Calm down."

Bobby heard the growl step up a notch and fought to hold his ground. He didn't want to appear scared, although he guessed the wolf could smell it on him. That snarl was getting a bit ugly and he tightened his grip on the shotgun.

"Dean! Cut it out!" Sam got between them again quickly and knelt down, taking hold of the wolf's head and turning the eyes toward him. "I know you're in there, Dean, stop being a jerk. You know Bobby. You know he won't hurt us. So knock it off."

Dean shook his head free and then did something Bobby would never have believed if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. He stepped back a couple of paces and lay down, covering his muzzle with one paw, and so help him, Bobby thought he looked embarrassed.

"Better. Y'know, dude, I think I like you better this way. Quieter." Sam stood up again and turned to Bobby. "Dawn's about what, half an hour? I'm not leaving him here."

"Did I ask you to? No. We'll wait it out." Bobby was still watching Dean out of the corner of his eye, still not trusting the wolf completely. He hadn't quite reconciled that Dean was in there somewhere, regardless of that display. And apparently the wolf could smell the distrust; he huffed a bit and went to the cars, looking around the Impala carefully and then raising a leg on Bobby's Camaro. And looking like he was laughing while he did it.

"Dean, you are so dead when you change back, you idjit." Bobby was less than amused, but in a matter of minutes he was rubbing the back of his neck and smiling, if not widely. "Kinda gives new meaning to the words 'Piss on you,' don't it?"

Sam was in turn glaring at his older brother. "Not nice, Dean. Are you _ever_ going to get civilized?" He threw up his hands. "Probably not. So, Bobby, what do we do now? We need to get out of here before a cop comes along. We're still too close to the scene."

"Too late." Bobby indicated the cruiser pulling up behind the Camaro. "You get him in the car. I don't care what you have to do, but get him in the car before dawn. Head back into town, find a motel. I'll be right behind you as soon as I deal with Smokey here." He raised a hand and hailed the trooper as he stepped out of his car. "Evenin, Officer," he said easily.

"Okay, you heard the man, Dean, get in the car." Sam could hear Bobby talking to the trooper, something about how they were headed to the same place and had to stop to let the dog out. "Look, I already put a trashbag on the seat, you won't get anything on your precious car. Just get _in_ already before that cop gets an eyeful, okay?" He waited until Dean finally took the hint and jumped in, then closed the door and went around to the driver's side. He remembered he'd have to drive circumspectly; if the cop ran the plate they might still end up in trouble.

They got lucky. Seemingly, the guy had accepted Bobby's explanation – long drive, let the dog out, whatever else he'd said out there. Sam raised a hand to wave as the cruiser swept past, headed into town, and then Bobby flashed his headlights behind. They made it to the motel with a few minutes to spare, even.

Getting the room was simple. The desk clerk didn't seem to mind that there would be three people in the room; he didn't even look up when Sam peeled off some of their hoarded cash to pay for it for a week. Just took the money, counted it, and handed over a key, all without glancing up from the novel he was engrossed in. Just as well. He wouldn't be able to give a description if he was asked.

They had barely gotten Dean into the room when the sun touched the horizon. The door thudded closed and Dean gave a strangled growl/snarl/moan as the change started to take him. It was swift, but looked incredibly painful, and he was gasping for air by the time it was finished.

Sam handed him a pair of jeans without a word and nodded toward the shower. He knew Dean would want to clean up; there was slime all over and he wanted to clean what there was on the floor. He and Bobby methodically scrubbed and mopped until it was gone, and waited for Dean.

"I'll say it again, Dean, that's part of you I never wanted to see," Sam remarked idly as Dean came out, toweling his hair. "Okay, time to get things moving. There's one more night of full moon and I really don't want to go through that again. Watching you shift is _not_ high on my list of priorities."

"You? Who spent the last few hours on all fours, Sammy? And without a girl, I might add." Dean was trying to lighten the mood.

Bobby reached over and bipped Dean in the back of the head. "That's for my car, you moron," he said affectionately. "Let's get busy. Werewolves. Sam, punch them up on that thing of yours and let's see what we can find."

**TBC…**


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)  
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for In My Time of Dying, Heart, All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock.  
Beta: Ithil-valon, and River. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?  
Pairings: None so far.  
Author's Note: Kudos to MajorPaul for helping me brainstorm through this! I just couldn't seem to come up with a believable reason that a silver ring wouldn't hurt Dean… she came through admirably! Thanks so much, hon!!! huggles

**Part Four**

Six hours later, they were no closer to a solution than they had been that morning. "We know from observation that it's a quick change, that it's brutal, and that whatever wounds you have when you change heal. That's for starters." Sam was ticking points off on his fingers. "We know that Dean is still in there when he changes. If he wasn't, I'd have been dead. Bobby?"

"Mythology says that once you change, you want to kill. That it's an 'unstoppable urge.' Think we can safely say that ain't true. Dean didn't kill either of us. I'd say he stopped the urge pretty well."

"Hey, I'm still here, guys. And for the moment, still human." Dean was keeping it light but he knew it was serious. "When I was shifted, though, things were different. I didn't exactly recognize you guys, not at first. Sammy… came out as a pack-mate. The scent did it, told me he was family, that I shouldn't hurt him. Until I got that scent, I was ready to rip his throat out. I couldn't understand what you two were saying, either. It was just gibberish. I totally understood Sammy when he told me to back off, though, not the words, but the tone. Made me feel about two inches tall." He wasn't about to mention his deliberate christening of Bobby's Camaro. He'd been in control enough by then he'd known exactly what he was doing.

"So it seems like the longer you're shifted, the more of yourself you get back, right?" Sam rubbed his face tiredly. "None of this is mentioned in the legends. They all say that once you change, you're totally without human intelligence. You're an animal, that's all, and one with a taste for blood."

"Not the first time we've had the wrong info." Bobby was considering carefully. "Anything in your dad's journal?"

"Nothing we haven't already heard. I've been through the thing front to back and there's nothing there." Dean laid the journal on the bed and fought the urge to throw something. "This is nuts. I do _not_ want to spend my life looking for belly rubs and licking my own ass."

"What, you don't do that now?" Sam was only half paying attention to the banter. "Hey, if lycanthropy is a curse, why don't we try some of the curse breakers on it? We've got loads of those."

"_Hell_ no! You know what can happen if you use the wrong spell. Try again." Dean leaned back against the headboard for a moment and then lunged upward to pace the confines of the room.

"Well, if we don't find anything else, we can watch our backs tonight." Bobby gestured to the book in front of him. "Says here that a werewolf can eventually control his change, if he wants to, and won't be tied to the moon."

"Great. So all I have to do is learn to control it. Maybe I'll manage a few tricks along the way, too. Maybe if I sit up and beg it'll go away. I don't want to control it! Dammit, Bobby, I want to CURE it!" Dean cut off the growl as soon as he heard it, but it was too late. It was a bestial sound, not at all like his normal voice, and he hated it. He hated worse the open concern, pity, and yes, fear, in the others' faces. He never wanted Sam to be afraid of him.

"Okay, Dean, okay. Settle down." Bobby was still searching through his books but he wasn't finding anything helpful. "There's all the traditional stuff, wolfsbane, monkshood, stuff like that, but I'd hesitate to use it. Says it's poison to a werewolf and we don't want to kill you. Silver… holy water is a bust. Won't clear the infection, just hurts like hell. Guess you knew that."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that out when I got all furry." Dean continued prowling around the room, not really looking for anything, just pacing to be moving. He was restless and not sure why. It wasn't all that close to sundown yet. Part of it might be the apprehension and uncertainty he could feel pouring off the others. He knew he was the cause. He just didn't know how to reassure them when it was pretty much a given he'd be sporting fur and fangs in about four hours. "Silver, huh? No dice, it isn't gonna work, either." Dean held up his right hand with the ring. "Sterling. It should be burning the hell out of me, but it isn't."

Sam looked up from his computer. "No burn at all? That's not normal." He started running more searches. "Dean, we used silver on the other one. It killed the thing. So how can you not be burnt from that ring?"

"You got me. But it doesn't burn. Hey, where's the bullets? Let's try those." Dean rifled his bag for the case of silver rounds they always carried. He opened it gingerly and then placed it on the table and regarded it steadily. He wasn't at all sure, now that he was up to it, that he wanted to grab one of those shiny little shells. "No pain, no gain." He picked one up and promptly dropped it again with a hiss. Blisters were already forming on his hand. "I don't get it. Maybe it has to be pure silver, really pure. Hell, I don't know. There's too many questions floating around here and not enough answers, dammit!" Again his eyes went to the clock, but it hadn't moved very far. Still nearly four hours before he wolfed out. "Guess I'll need to wear gloves on a hunt. Got to be able to use the silver."

"Okay, I think I can answer the silver question." Sam's voice was a little rough; he knew what would have to happen if they couldn't cure Dean. He wasn't sure he could actually kill his brother, not like he'd had to kill Madison. "One source I'm looking at says it won't hurt the werewolf if it has some sentimental value, or if it was intended as a protection." He didn't know where Dean had acquired the thing, and he hadn't asked. "And this one says that if you were wearing the silver item at the time of infection that item won't affect the wearer."

Dean nodded and Bobby looked thoughtful. "Makes sense, I guess." Dean shrugged. "So that's answered. What about a freaking _cure?"_

Bobby shook his head while continuing to sift through his books. "Nothing yet, Dean. We're looking as fast as we can. It's gonna take time."

"Yeah, and time we don't have." Dean was pacing again. "Dammit!"

"We need somewhere we can keep you secure tonight, anyway. Someplace strong, in case you flip out." Sam was consulting the phone book. "If we could make it to Bobby's he could put you in one of the sheds. But there's not enough time, now. I didn't think about it soon enough."

"I'm not gonna flip out, Sammy." The one word guaranteed to get a glare from his brother and Dean wasn't disappointed. "I didn't hurt you guys last night, what makes you think I will tonight? Besides, you guys still have the silver. If you have to, you use it. Don't be a wuss, Sam."

"I'm not a wuss, Dean! I'm sorry if I don't want to shoot you!" Sam stood up and deliberately put himself in Dean's path. "Do you _want_ to die? Every time I turn around you're courting death! When's it going to stop, Dean? When's it going to be enough? When am I going to be enough to make you want to live instead of die?"

Dean fisted both hands into Sam's shirt and pushed him forcefully against the wall. "It isn't about you, Sammy, and you know that," he snarled. "I have screwed up everything I ever tried to do, everyone I cared about has ended up dead. Mom… Dad sold his _soul_ so I'd live. I even let _you_ die, Sam, did you forget? I'm a curse. And now I'm _really _cursed. This is just one more step on my road to Hell, little brother. It's got _nothing_ to do with you."

Bobby just rolled his eyes and kept looking through his books. He needed to do something before he just knocked their heads together.

Sam shoved and sent Dean staggering backward. "It has _everything_ to do with me, you moron! How do you think I feel, knowing you're going to die because of me? How do you think I feel knowing that you're going to turn into a monster in a few hours and that I might have to kill you myself? How do you think it feels to know you got bitten because I was too slow? That I'm responsible, one way or another, for you going to Hell?"

"Hey! Would you two idjits get your heads outta your asses and help me here? I don't_care_ which one of you started what or who hurt who first! We've got about two hours before Dean here gets all furry. If we're gonna help him, we need to _concentrate._ Sam, try that Encyclopedia Mythica site, see what it has. I'll keep looking through these. Dean, look through these. Sit. Now."

"Hey! I'm not furry yet, Bobby, the commands don't work." Nevertheless, Dean subsided and went to the other side of the room to look through the papers and notes Bobby handed him.

**TBC…**


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural  
Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)  
Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for In My Time of Dying, Heart, All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock.  
Beta: Ithil-valon, and River. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?  
Pairings: None so far.

**Part Five**

Dean was having a hard time. His pack-brother human was here, and he wouldn't hurt Sam. But the other human, the older one, he wasn't so sure of. The man had fear smell all over him, but Dean also thought his scent was familiar, and it was confusing him. He couldn't understand why the man was afraid. He hadn't even shown his teeth, but the man had a gun ready anyway. That made _Dean_ afraid.

It wasn't like he'd even shown his teeth yet. He'd growled once, but Sam had said something in that voice and he'd stopped. Sam didn't want him to hurt the other man, the one who was so familiar. So he wouldn't hurt… Bobby? That was Bobby, and Bobby was a friend. He couldn't hurt a friend.

He could hear the humans talking to each other, but it was just noise. He couldn't understand the words they made. But the tone, the tone was full of something just short of fear and he didn't want them to be afraid any more. He just didn't know how to make them feel better.

He put his head on his paws and whuffed softly, then just watched them like they were watching him. He wouldn't move from his spot near Sam unless they did something to make him know they weren't afraid any more.

"Would you look at that." Bobby couldn't take his eyes from the wolf where it rested so quietly near Sam's feet. "Half an hour ago I wouldn't have given you even money on us living through the night. I think you're right. I think Dean's still in there somewhere." But he didn't put the shotgun down, either. It was loaded with silver rounds, guaranteed to make mincemeat of the wolf – of _Dean_ – if he got out of control.

"He's in there, Bobby. He's watching us. I think maybe he's as scared of us as we are of him." Sam put his hand down to Dean, palm up, holding it steady. "Dean, I know you can't talk to us, dude. You're in there, I know you are. You don't have to be scared, okay? I'll look after you. We look after each other, remember?"

Dean didn't move, but his mind was spinning. His pack-brother, no, his_brother_ was talking to him, trying to reassure him, it seemed. Sam's voice was calm and even. Surely that meant it would be okay to move a little closer? He shifted slightly and raised his head, but he didn't get up. He still wasn't sure about Bobby.

His eyes went to the older man, assessing. His grip on the gun was loose, easy, but Dean knew it wouldn't take much to make him use it. He whined softly and edged just a bit closer to Sam. There was more, _he_ was more, he could feel more in his head, just out of reach. He needed to try to break into that spot and figure out who he was. He knew he was a wolf, but he also had the feeling that he was more than _just_a wolf. How could a wolf have a human brother? Thoughts and feelings that were alien to the wolf danced in his head and it was starting to hurt.

Bobby watched the two of them for a minute and then deliberately raised the shotgun, catching their attention, and carefully set it on the table before stepping away and going to sit on one of the beds. The weapon was now out of reach. "I figure he hasn't done anything by now, he's not likely to," he explained easily. "He's probably hungry, all the books said they need to feed when they change. I'll go get some food for all of us. Just hang in there for a while. Dawn'll come in a few hours. Just ride it out. I'll be back in a bit."

Sam nodded and Dean made a little noise in his throat, but it wasn't really threatening so Bobby let it go and left the room. Sam looked down at Dean. "I'm starting to feel like I'm in a Lassie movie, dude. Next you'll be dragging me by the shirtsleeve, trying to get me to follow you."

Dean lay back down with a soft sound and covered his muzzle again. He was starting to get more of himself back, to remember more of who and what he really was. He was putting memories back in place, making more and more sense to himself, coming closer and closer to who he really was. And the thought that he was trapped here in the body of a wolf was the last thing he wanted to accept. Even if it was temporary.

Maybe he'd just sleep it off. No; no, he needed to get a grip on this. Maybe if he concentrated, he could keep his mind while he was in this shape. Right now, he'd start with trying to identify all the scents he was getting. If he could consciously catalog them, maybe he'd be able to _use_ the ability if Sam and Bobby couldn't cure him. If he could just stay in control, maybe he could wait out a cure.

And maybe not. There was that damned crossroads demon he had to worry about, too. Not a lot of time left on that _stupid_ contract. Okay, so that wasn't the smartest thing he'd ever done, but he just couldn't face life without Sam. Sam was needed. He wasn't. That was the long and short of it. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being a werewolf for a few months.

_That_ scent he knew. Bobby was back… and he brought cheeseburgers.

**TBC…**


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural

Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)

Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for In My Time of Dying, Heart, All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.   
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock.

Beta: Ithil-valon, River, and StMatt. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?  
Pairings: None so far.

**Part Six**

"We need to move."

Those were the first words Dean spoke after he woke up the next afternoon. Sam was kind of glad to hear them; he was beginning to wonder if his brother was ever going to rejoin the land of the living. He'd slept so long and so deeply that at one point, Bobby had suggested taking his pulse.

On the other hand, it didn't really sound like Dean. The exhaustion he supposed he could understand; it probably took a _lot_ out of a person to shift forms like that. But Dean's usual method of dealing with fear and uncertainty was to pour on more bravado and bullshit. This quiet acceptance was disturbing.

"Where to? Bobby's? He left a couple hours ago, while you were still asleep. He said something about searching the rest of his library for cures and lore." Sam was watching Dean carefully. Usually Dean would have a smartass comment for something like this.

"Bobby's sounds good. At least there I won't have to worry about killing someone." The words were clipped and tense, and Sam got a little more concerned. This just wasn't like Dean. If he'd already given up, they had a serious problem.

"So we move. Dean." Sam had to say something. He needed to shake Dean out of this weird mood before it drove _him_ crazy. "Are you okay?"

Dean took a deep breath before facing his brother. "Oh, yeah, Sammy, I'm just peachy. We'll never make Bobby's before I change again. Too late in the day. But that's okay; you can let me out long enough to make the change and then maybe howl at the moon or scratch some fleas or something. Yeah, I'm just great. Better than great. I'm a damn _werewolf,_ Sam! You tell me how that could _possibly_ be okay!"

"You're still breathing, that's how!" Sam was tired of the argument but he had to do something to shake Dean out of his apparent funk. "Dean, we can fix this. We just don't know how yet. We aren't going to stop looking, okay? _I_ won't stop looking. Not ever. Not until you've drawn that last breath, Dean, and maybe not then. I _will not _stop trying to save your life, okay? Get used to the idea!"

Dean blinked. "Intense much? You can't break that deal, Sam, we've been over this already. I'm not risking your life to save mine. No. End of discussion. The werewolf thing? Knock yourself out. But you go messing around with that crossroads demon, I _will_ stop you. I told you that before." He shook his head. "This isn't getting us anywhere, Sammy, if we're going to get to Bobby's, we need to get moving."

"Car's already packed, I was just waiting on your lazy ass." Sam wasn't giving up. He'd let it rest for now, but no way was he going to let Dean die. No, he'd do whatever he had to, in order to save his brother. The werewolf thing, as Dean called it, might be the worst part of it; they'd had to kill the only other person they knew who'd gone through this change because there'd been no cure available in time for her and she couldn't stand the thought of killing someone.

It tore at Sam to see Dean the same way. He'd loved Madison, even if it had been an extremely short relationship. In the end, he'd done as she asked. He'd pulled the trigger. It hadn't helped him to know she _wanted _to die. It had still broken his heart to stop hers. No way was he going to let that happen to Dean. Sam didn't think _he_ could take it. Not again.

That thought gave him a bit of hope, though. Madison had never completely taken on a wolf form, not in the three days after she'd become a werewolf. Dean had not only shifted completely, he'd managed to retain some of his essential personality while in the wolf form. Maybe that meant there was more than one kind of werewolf? It was worth checking into.

"Hey! Earth to Sam, you coming? Bus is leaving, dude." Dean had his head stuck back into the room and Sam could hear the purr of that big V-8 already running. He'd better get his own head straight before he tried to work on Dean's problem.

"Yeah, let's go. Sorry, I was just thinking something." Sam packed up the laptop, the last thing they had left in the room, and got into the passenger side. "I'm gonna work on some stuff in these printouts, then, since you're driving. Might find something we overlooked."

"Yeah, well, don't lose yourself too deep. We'll switch when I start to change, I guess. I figure four, five hours to Bobby's, tops, and we've got _maybe_ three until sunset." Dean pulled out of the lot carefully, watching the nearly deserted highway for traffic, and Sam noted the cautious action. Another thing that didn't add up with Dean since this change. Dean was _never_ like this, although Sam supposed it might be a change for the better. No, Dean's usual habit was to fly down the road if he could, loving the speed and the feel of the Impala around him. He knew enough about his brother to know that something was still bugging Dean a lot; but he couldn't come right out and ask, not without getting his head bitten off again.

It was looking like a long drive to Bobby's.

**TBC…**


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural

Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)

Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for In My Time of Dying, Heart, All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock. This means it's AU, folks. Alternate Universe. Some facts, features, and faces might be different than in canon. Don't like? Don't read. You've been warned.

Beta: Ithil-valon, River, and StMatt. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?  
Pairings: None so far.

**Part Seven**

They pulled into Bobby's yard several hours later. It had taken some doing to get Dean back into the car after his change. For some reason, he'd decided he needed a run through the woods and it had been all Sam could do to keep up with him. At least he hadn't killed anyone; Sam had seen nothing between leaving the car and finally running him down. Dean was completely in wolf form, which meant he wasn't talking; and that meant Sam would have to wait until he changed back to find out what he'd been hunting.

He _had_ been hunting, too. There had been a moment of alarm, a tensing, a pricking of the ears, and a flat out silent run, definitely looking for something. Definitely searching; every few hundred yards he'd stop and scent the air. There was something out there, something Dean desperately wanted to find. Another werewolf, maybe? Sam didn't know, and there was no way to find out before dawn.

"Hey, Bobby," he greeted the older man right off when Bobby stepped onto the porch, the usual flask of holy water in hand. He took a sip and grinned. "Want me to pour some in a bowl for Dean?" He got the hoped for response; Dean turned that muzzle in his direction with a barely lifted lip and a growl.

"Wouldn't hurt, but I doubt anything'd want him in that condition," Bobby returned with a half smile. "Come on, let's get inside. Few hours yet until dawn, and we need to get some stuff in place before other hunters find out about this. They'll be of the same mind I was, that he'll have to be put down. We'll need to keep it as quiet as possible for as long as we can."

Sam nodded as Dean padded past into the house. "If we thought Gordon was bad, coming after me, this…" He gestured at Dean, who'd settled on the couch to stare at them. "This'll put the hunters like him into orbit trying to find us. Werewolf equals evil, no questions asked."

Dean watched the two of them plan, feeling a little left out. So he was wearing a wolf skin, did that mean he wasn't there? He was a little annoyed. Then he thought a little more about it. He was controlling this, so far. He knew who he was and what he was doing. He'd learned to recognize certain scents. He'd know Sam anywhere, of course, and Bobby, but the one that had sent him into the woods, well, he wasn't so sure about. It had reminded him of his dad, and that was just plain weird. His dad had been gone for almost two years now.

He called his thoughts back to order and did a little more thinking while Bobby and Sam were involved in talking about what the two of them had and hadn't learned during the few hours they'd been apart. He knew now that he could handle this, but he wasn't sure how far his handling would go. He could keep his mind while he was in wolf form, but the one that had bit him had been kind of human. It had walked upright and looked like a big guy with a fur coat, until you got up close and personal and saw what it really was. He was considering an attempt at something like it when he saw a movement outside the window where there should be none. He came to his feet, his hackles up, growling softly.

The motion didn't go unnoticed. Sam and Bobby spun, one headed for his shotgun while the other drew a 9mil from his waistband. "Dean?" Sam questioned softly.

Dean threw him a disgusted look with his wolf face and stalked toward the door, plainly demanding to be set loose. There was that scent again, the one he'd gotten in the woods. It couldn't be his father. Just impossible. And he was GOING to catch up this time and find out for sure. He just needed someone to open the damn door.

Someone knocked on it.

Dean and Sam looked at each other, considering. It was full dark outside. If it was a demon, it would be strong; but Bobby had some seriously strong protections in his house. They both stepped back as Bobby went to the door, but didn't open it. "We're closed!" he shouted through the wood. "Come back tomorrow!"

"Cut the crap and open the fucking door, Singer," was the snarled reply. Dean and Sam again regarded each other, this time with nearly identical expressions of astonishment. Dean scented the air again, carefully, fixing it in his mind so he'd be able to track it if necessary. He knew that voice, knew it from the cradle, and there was nothing in it to suggest anything was wrong. Still, the hair on his neck was rising and he let out another growl.

Bobby shrugged at the boys and opened the door. There was salt spread across the threshold. If it was a demon, it wasn't coming inside. Unless it was a major demon, and then the salt wouldn't even slow it down. And he had to blink a couple times to be certain of what he saw on his doorstep.

John. John Winchester. A very much living and breathing John Winchester. And that was, simply put, impossible. John had been dead for a long time.

Although he looked like he'd been through the wringer. His hands were bloodied up past the wrists, there were deep scratches along one cheekbone, and a nasty cut right near the hairline. There was blood on his jeans from an indeterminate source, and another nasty slice along his ribcage, visible through the corresponding tear in his shirt. He looked like he'd been run through a blender. On high. And he was barely keeping his feet.

Sam got under one side as he stepped through the door and Bobby got the other. It didn't look like John was going to be on his feet too much longer, so they steered him to the sofa and sat him down, stepping back to stare incredulously. Then Bobby handed him the flask.

It wasn't a foolproof test. Major demons, demons like Azazel, they didn't even blink at holy water and salt. That had been proven when Azazel had possessed John before. But it would at least rule out the lesser ones. They'd worry about the major ones later. And the couch sat within a Key of Solomon, which meant even if it WAS a major demon, it would be trapped and powerless.

Dean padded forward slowly, watching, studying. He could find no hint that this was anything other than his dad, and the thought had him seriously confused. Demons couldn't resurrect people, not unless a deal was made. Or could they? Demons lied, too. All the time. Maybe Azazel had lied all along. He didn't know. And he STILL couldn't tell any difference from his dad. The man looked the same, sounded the same, even smelled the same way Dean remembered, right down to the Irish Spring soap overlaid by sweat. Dean's nose wrinkled a bit at that; the guy was downright pungent. But as far as he could tell, it was Dad. Right down to his boots. And that was another problem.

Dad was going to kill him for letting himself get bitten.

Dean slunk under the table as John finished the water in the flask and handed it back to Bobby with a frown.

John hadn't seen Dean. Bobby, Sam, and whatever that mutt was that had just hidden under the table, but no Dean. The Impala was outside, so if he was alive, he was here. The thought just wouldn't leave him, though, that something had happened to his oldest son, and he voiced it as soon as he was able. "Where's Dean?"

Sam knelt next to him with the medical kit, but he glanced up at Bobby when John spoke. How the hell were they supposed to tell him that Dean was a werewolf? He'd start demanding a gun and silver bullets. Sam couldn't say it. "He's around. Probably out in the yard checking the protections or something."

It was such a normal thing for Dean to do that John relaxed slightly. Until the antiseptic hit the cut on his head and he let loose a string of foul language that would have made his drill sergeant proud. He jerked his head away and Sam pulled it back just as quickly.

"Hold still," Sam said quietly. He finished up the cleanup on that one and tied it together with a couple of sterile strips and moved on to the cheek. Deep, nasty, but not lethal. He cleaned those out also. "Okay, lose the shirt, Dad." He wanted to see if the gouges there were as bad, and possibly what had made them. He was also fishing to see if the scars he remembered were there. He still wasn't totally convinced that this person was his father.

John shrugged out of the shirt with a hiss of pain and used it to wipe his hands. It was fit for the trash anyway. Little things were starting to add up, though, and while he let Sam tend his wounds in relative silence – he couldn't help cursing when Sam hit a particularly painful area – he wondered just exactly what it was they weren't telling him. It was something about Dean, he was sure. He hadn't missed the quick look passed between Sam and Bobby when he'd asked about Dean; and he hadn't missed the minute pause between the look and Sam's words that said his son was lying to him. Still, if Dean was dead, there would have been no need for the subterfuge. It had to be something different.

He waited until Sam was finished patching him up and sat up, although he didn't go any farther than the edge of the couch. No, he'd have to get up and move to prove he was himself. He knew about the key, of course. He and Bobby had put a lot of those protections in together to protect the boys. So he stood up, grabbed the arm of the couch for support, caught his breath, and headed for the kitchen. He needed a drink. Preferably Jim, Jack, or Jose, but he wasn't going to be particular.

After careful thought, he grabbed a beer instead. He needed to be as clear as he could to try and unravel this. He knew he wasn't supposed to be here. He remembered dying. And he remembered helping his boys destroy Azazel. He remembered… nothing else. But he sure remembered Hell, and if he was out of there, it was enough. How he'd gotten here would be the first priority.

He sat at the table with the beer because his legs didn't want to hold him up. He wasn't really tired; but his injuries were sapping his strength and he wanted to be awake so he could think. That meant sitting quietly for a while.

The mutt was under the table. John was actually glad to see another dog in this place. He knew Rumsfeld had died in that mess with Meg, and he knew how Bobby had felt about the big Rottweiler.

He was just considering trying to make friends with it when Sam and Bobby followed him into the kitchen. They took up flanking positions on the sides of the table and sat with their own drinks.

Bobby regarded John steadily while Sam kept looking at the table. Nobody spoke until Dean moved quietly out from under and used the dog door to go out in the yard.

"Glad you got another dog, Bobby," John remarked evenly as he put his bottle down. He looked up as Sam coughed suddenly and said something about looking for Dean before bolting from the kitchen like he'd been stung. John filed the incident away as one of those telling points. They were hiding something from him and he meant to get to the bottom of it. "Okay, now that the boys aren't around. What the FUCK is going on, Singer?"

**TBC…**


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural

Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)

Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for In My Time of Dying, Heart, All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock. This means it's AU, folks. Alternate Universe. Some facts, features, and faces might be different than in canon. Don't like? Don't read. You've been warned.

Beta: Ithil-valon, River, and StMatt. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?  
Pairings: None so far.

**Part Eight**

Bobby regarded his friend steadily. Okay, so they'd decided it WAS John Winchester. That meant that he came with all the total jackassery John'd always had, unfortunately. He was trying to choose his words carefully, but he just wasn't the tactful type. "Seems the boys got into a bit of trouble on the last job," he said slowly. "They're okay, just a little shook up." Yeah, if you considered being a werewolf okay. "Probably why Dean's outside. Needs to walk it off."

John put down the beer and growled. "Torn up pretty bad, huh?" Couldn't be too bad, or Dean would be in a bed. If he was walking it off, there wasn't too much it could be. Bumps, bruises, cuts and scrapes, those could be walked off. Concussions, bullet wounds, serious shit couldn't.

"Nah. You oughta be proud of em, John. Right good hunters, both of em. Nobody's perfect." Bobby realized the mistake the second the word was out of his mouth, but it was already too late. John was on his feet and headed for the door, his jaw set in that stubborn pissed-off fashion that Bobby knew all too well.

John slammed out of the house, looking for Sam. He knew it was possible Dean had screwed up, but not likely. No, the culprit was most likely his youngest son, who had never set much store by his old man's training. The first rule of which had been, never go in unprepared. He was willing to bet that Sam had forgotten to check their weapons or that they had the right ones for the job. Sam was a great kid… but he hated hunting, always had. It had almost surprised him to find the boys still together after Azazel was gone.

Dean would always put Sam before himself, so that was most likely what had happened. Sam had screwed the pooch and Dean had taken the damage. He saw Sam with the dog and called out angrily. "Sam! Tell me exactly what happened out there, right now." He wasn't going to take any arguments, either. "Right now, Sammy."

The dog -- which looked more like a wolf to John's way of thinking before he passed it off as irrelevant -- took up a subdued stance at Sam's knee and John tuned it out. It couldn't understand what he was saying anyway, and Bobby kept his mutts trained within an inch of their lives. It wouldn't attack without a command from Singer.

Sam turned to face his father, that all-too-familiar "fuck you, Dad" look on his face. "It went south, that's all. Dean got torn up a little. It's no big deal." No, he couldn't say it. He couldn't. What he could do was hope things had changed, as unlikely as it seemed, and he'd be able to deflect Dad by admitting fault. "I didn't check the shotgun before we went in. Had the wrong loads in it. I screwed up, okay?"

"You screwed up." John's voice was harsh. "You didn't check your equipment. If I've told you once I've told you a hundred times, Sam! You can't go in without making sure you're prepared! You could have gotten Dean killed!"

"You think I don't know that?" Sam raged back, right up in John's face. "You think I don't feel guilty enough already? That thing was slick, Dad, it was fast and it was strong. I could have gotten BOTH of us killed! So don't you EVEN start in on me! I got enough guilt going on without you piling MORE on!"

John took a step forward but was stopped when the dog snarled and grabbed his jeans leg. He tried to shake it off but the mutt wasn't having it and he realized Bobby was on the porch. "Singer! Call off your fucking dog!"

"Not my dog, John," Bobby replied evenly. But he was a little disturbed to see Dean so aggressive, especially with his father, even though it was in defense of his brother. He took hold of the shotgun a little more firmly, though he didn't yet raise it. "Talk to Sam about that one." No, he couldn't say it, either.

Dean dragged his dad several paces to the side and then let go. He moved back and very deliberately sat down between John and Sam, watching his dad intently. He wasn't going to bite, of course. He didn't want to put anyone else through this, especially Dad. But he sure as hell wasn't going to sit still and let Dad wale on Sammy, either.

John staggered a little and then righted himself when it let go, glaring at the animal like he'd just as soon turn it into a throw rug. Damn thing was too damned intelligent for a dog. It seemed to understand him, understand the glare he threw toward it, even returning it just as nasty. Later, he'd figure that out later, when he'd sorted Sam's issues out. Then he returned his attention to his youngest son. "Dammit, Sam, I told you, pets are a luxury you can't afford as a hunter! It could get you killed watching out for it instead of your own ass!"

"Oh, it's not a pet, Dad," Sam said firmly. Truth time, and he just hoped he and Dean both lived through it. "Trust me, it's not a pet."

John took a step forward and the mutt countered it. He frowned and stepped to one side, and it did the same. It seemed determined to remain between him and Sam, and he was getting really pissed at it. And where the hell was Dean? A fight between John and Sam was sure to bring him running. Another step, another counter from the dog. "Sam, if you don't call this thing off, I'm gonna end up knocking it into next week. And just where in the hell is your brother?" Dean had never waited this long to get between them when John and Sam fought. The boy was always the peacemaker, so where the hell was he?

He could tell the second he glanced back at Sam. The boy looked totally guilt-ridden, and the dog – wolf – whatever the hell it was still stood squarely between them. Protecting Sam.

John sat down hard on the ground, all his strength gone and his head whirling. That was the last piece he needed, he thought as he caught the thing's eyes. The thing's GREEN eyes. Dean's eyes. Oh, this was a full commode slopping over now. He couldn't get any volume out of his voice. "Dean?"

**TBC…**


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Complications

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural

Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)

Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for In My Time of Dying, Heart, All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock. This means it's AU, folks. Alternate Universe. Some facts, features, and faces might be different than in canon. Don't like? Don't read. You've been warned.

Beta: Ithil-valon, River. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?  
Pairings: None so far.

**Part Nine**

It was a nice picture, Bobby thought as he watched them: father, son, and family pet, except he knew that pet was actually the other son. He kept his grip on the shotgun but lowered it carefully. Still, he kept his finger on the trigger. He knew he wouldn't have to use it, but it was always smart to keep an ace in the hole. John was thunderstruck, Sam was watchful, and Dean… well, who knew what went on in Dean's head when he was himself, let alone now. "Now that you guys have the pissing contest crap out of the way, get in here. It's cold out. These old bones don't take it as well as they used to."

John was first to react, rising from the ground, one hand outstretched toward his boys. His boys, he reminded himself. His boys, though one of them was wearing a fur coat and the other looked like he'd rather be ANYWHERE but there just at that moment. "Come on. Bobby's right, we need to be inside." He knew they would understand. There were protections in there, protections from the horrors that walked the night, and he had a sudden twinge when he realized Dean now numbered among them. A werewolf. He couldn't get his mind around the concept. Common sense said that he should take that shotgun from Singer and put the thing down, but his heart… well, his heart wasn't listening. That was his son, and he'd be DAMNED if he'd commit that sin as well as all the others he was guilty of. "Sam? Come on. You can tell me exactly how this happened. We'll figure a way to fix it."

Sam nodded and followed his father, his mind spinning with questions he wanted to ask and didn't quite have the courage for. If this was really his dad, why wasn't he trying to kill Dean? Werewolves, John had always taught them, were beyond redemption. Period. He felt rather than saw Dean padding along beside him, but he didn't dare look down. They were already in enough trouble. John had ordered Dean, before he died, to look out for Sam. To protect him… and to KILL him if he went darkside. The thought beat at him, that his own father had given a command to kill him. Granted, it was only a last ditch measure, but it still didn't sit well with Sam. He couldn't get the thought out of his head. Still, he summoned a half smile for the older hunter. "You're not old, Bobby." He touched Bobby's shoulder as he passed, simultaneously offering support and asking for it in return. He had no idea what was going to happen next but he was starting to get that familiar helpless feeling in the pit of his stomach. The one he always had when his father was about to lecture him on his shortcomings.

He spent the better part of the next hour going over everything that had happened in the last seventy-two hours, in order, out of order, all around the order, backward, forward, and everything in between until Bobby finally broke in and demanded a halt. "It ain't gonna matter how many times he goes over it, jackass, the story won't change. Sam, bed. It's late. Dean--"

"_No." _It was Dean's voice, but lower, rougher, more guttural than it had ever been before. The others turned to regard him with varying expressions of dismay.

He'd been behind the couch during Sam's entire recital, but he hadn't been idle. He'd managed somehow to shift himself partway back to human, enough to make himself understood, anyway. "It wasn't... his fault." It was obviously taking an enormous effort just to hold the transition to be able to speak. He was shaking and appeared exhausted already, but he wouldn't stop. "My job... take care of Sam. My fault."

Bobby shook his head but said nothing. That was Dean, clear through. Sam was always foremost in his mind, always his first concern. John had fostered that all his life, and Dean had soaked it up like a sponge.

Sam glared at Dean. "No. Not your fault. Mine. I didn't check the equipment, Dean. Dad's right, this time, it's my fault." He would make no comment about the control his brother was exerting over the condition; it was a mark of his faith in Dean that he'd known it would come to this. That Dean would control the wolf, rather than the other way around. And Sam would take the responsibility for his mistake. He'd grown enough to know when he had to face up to his screw-ups, whether his dad understood that or not. He wasn't 18 any more, desperate to be normal. He was a hunter, for good and all, and he knew he'd screwed up. He was just glad Dean was still alive.

Dean had to hold onto the back of the couch to be able to stand, but he was nearly all human again. Two hours to dawn, and he'd controlled the change. He'd brought himself back. He counted it a major victory, but he wasn't sure he was going to be able to let go and walk to a bed. "Fine. You screwed up. But it's working out. Big question now, people... how the hell is Dad alive and here?" He gave a pointed glance at his father. "We can worry about the werewolf thing later."

"We can worry about all of it later," Bobby said firmly. "Bed. All of ya. This place is as safe as I can make it, and we're coming up on daylight which is less dangerous, but still could be bad. Get some sleep and we'll suss things out when we wake up." He knew there was a lot to discuss. John's presence was one thing, Dean's deal was another. He didn't have that much longer before that bitch came to collect. But they'd all do well for some sleep. John looked about to fall over and he was hurt besides. Dean was barely keeping his feet, and Sam... Sam was a mess of insecurity and guilt right now and didn't need anyone making it worse. "John, that couch is still a good place to sleep. The boys'll be upstairs in the guest room. Now let's get some rest and come at this with fresh heads in the morning."


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural

Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)

Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for In My Time of Dying, Heart, All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock. This means it's AU, folks. Alternate Universe. Some facts, features, and faces might be different than in canon. Don't like? Don't read. You've been warned.

Beta: Ithil-valon, River, and StMatt. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?  
Pairings: None so far.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am so sorry for the delay... Real Life decided to throw some real whammies at me, but here's the next part... Please read and review, I need to be fed and watered! Flames, as always, will be used to give Dogzilla your scent so he can find you...

**Part Ten**

Dawn broke unnoticed. Each of the men had retired to a bed (or in John's case, the couch), but their sleep was not peaceful. Murmurs, mutters, and the occasional soft exclamation could be heard, if there'd been anyone to hear.

Bobby woke first, suddenly, as was his habit, and glanced at the clock. He let out a groan of revulsion when he saw the time. Seven A.M. He'd had less than four hours sleep, and he was getting old enough to feel it when he didn't get enough. Too damned bad, though. He still had work to do.

He dressed quickly and headed to the kitchen, putting on coffee. The other three were like him, he knew; black, hot, and strong would be what they wanted first thing. Sam could do any other sissy type thing he wanted to with it after the first cup.

He took his cup onto the porch, looking out over the yard. Something was bothering him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. And that pissed him off worse than anything.

John couldn't be alive. At least, to the normal, daylight world, it wasn't possible. The problem was, Bobby knew about the things in the dark that might MAKE it possible. And those things were, as a rule, nasty as hell. Evil. And if they'd brought John back, it wasn't for a good reason.

A soft step behind him let him know he was no longer alone, but he didn't turn. He was as familiar with the sounds in this place as he was with his own heartbeat, he'd lived here long enough. "Mornin, John," he growled before taking another pull at his coffee.

"Mornin," the other man replied as he regarded his own mug. "Guess you aren't going to point that shotgun at me again, at least not yet," he said affably without turning toward Bobby. The last time they'd been in the same vicinity Bobby had threatened to fill him full of buckshot.

"Yeah, well, you bring out the asshole in everyone," was Bobby's smooth reply. "You got somethin to say, now'd be the time, pal." Unspoken in the air between them was the idea that maybe John knew how he'd come to be here and Bobby really wanted to be let in on the secret.

John hesitated. He knew what Bobby was asking him, but he didn't have any answers. "I can't tell you what I don't know," he said finally. "I woke up in the woods a couple miles from here. I saw Dean, but I didn't know it was him then. I was up a tree, trying to get my bearings."

Bobby snorted. "Yeah, like you'd have recognized him anyway. How the hell would you know the kid was a werewolf? Sure rocked your socks off when you realized it, anyway." That was another thing they needed to talk about. Something would have to be done to protect Dean, even if he COULD control his change. Sooner or later, someone would figure him out, and then they'd have every hunter in the country after his ass. It was bad enough that Gordon Walker was still looking for Sam. Even from prison, the man was convinced that Sam was the Anti-Christ and was trying to rally other hunters to his way of thinking. Doing it, too. And if word got out Dean was a werewolf? More ammunition for Gordon and his pals. But that wasn't for him to tell, either.

John gave a disgusted snort and turned back inside. "I need a shower. Hate to do it, but we need to get the boys up, too. We need to get things straight and figure out what's coming. Something has to be. I don't think I'd be here if it wasn't."

Bobby nodded. "I'll get some food going. Those two garbage guts will be hungry." He wasn't going to comment that John was more than ripe; they'd been friends for too long and besides, sometimes on a hunt you didn't have time to clean up. They were fairly used to it.

Sam was already at the table when they passed through the kitchen, a bowl of cereal in front of him and one of Bobby's many references already open in front of him. "Mornin, Bobby," he said without looking up. "Hey, Dad." His voice became strained.

John gave him a pat on the shoulder as he went past. He knew he stunk, and he wanted to get clean while he could. "Bobby, you got an extra change of clothes somewhere?"

"Some of yours left in the hall closet," was the calm reply as Bobby started another pot of coffee and started scrambling eggs. "Haven't had the time to get rid of em."

John nodded and moved into the hall and Sam pushed his cereal away to put his head in his hands. "He's never going to let me forget I screwed up," he said miserably. For a moment he felt like the child he had been, rebellious and angry.

Bobby slid a plate of bacon and eggs in front of Sam and shrugged as he went back to the stove. "Think about something else, Sam, lord knows we've got enough to worry about now without you two ending up in another pissing contest," he said gruffly but not unkindly. "We're gonna have to all sit down and work some of this crap out before too much longer. Dean's learning, but he'll need some protection anyway. Anyone finds out he's a werewolf, his life won't be worth a plugged nickel and you know it." He sat another plate down just as Dean shuffled in, looking exhausted but freshly showered.

Dean poured a cup of coffee and slid into a chair, grabbing the plate and fork and digging in. "I can take care of myself, Bobby," he grumbled between bites. "We need to worry more about what's coming. Dad being back, well, that can't be good." He cleaned his plate quickly and was about to get up when another slid in front of him. He shrugged and dug in. Seemed like Bobby knew he was starving.

Bobby growled back at him. "Shut up and eat, idjit. Keep up your strength, you might need it." He managed to get a big plate of eggs and another platter of bacon onto the table before John made an appearance, looking and smelling much improved. And he tried to ignore the way Dean's nose twitched, as though scenting the air. Just one more thing to worry about right now.

He let John eat and finally sat down with his own, putting the coffee pot in the middle of the table as well, full to the brim with fresh. "Time to start sussin' things out," he began. "Think we ought to start with how John's sittin' here stuffing his face when he should be dead." It was one of the worst worries. If anything had brought John back, it would have to have had a reason. They needed to know what that reason was, and fast. If something was coming at them, they needed to be ready.

John swallowed his coffee and regarded them steadily. "I woke up a couple miles from here, in the woods," he repeated. "First thing I did was head up high to try and find my bearings. Once I knew where I was, I came here." He shook his head. "I have no idea how I got there, or how I got out of... wherever I was... before that. I know I wasn't in Hell. I know I bought you a little time to finish off Azazel. I know that. But after that... nothing."

Dean managed to maneuver his food to one side of his mouth. "Heard you mumbling a lot, last night," he mentioned idly. "Couldn't hear all the words, but you did say something about us." He shrugged as he forked more eggs in. "Couldn't make it out."

John cradled his mug in both hands and leaned forward, considering. He was giving the matter a great deal of thought, because it was important. He had no idea how important, though, and that bothered him. He hated not having all the pieces to a puzzle. "I don't remember much of the dreams," he said slowly. "But there was --- there was this voice. I've never heard anything like it."

Sam put his fork down and watched John warily. He knew the discussion of his mistake wasn't over, it was just being tabled for the time being. "This voice, was it like haunting you, or what? Good or bad? Could you tell?"

"Like... like listening to light, or something." Dean's voice broke across the tableau and John whipped his head around to stare at his oldest son. "I heard it, too. Last night. In the one dream I do remember."

The silence was deafening.

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Complications

Fandom: Supernatural

Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)

Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for In My Time of Dying, Heart, All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and seasons 3,4, and 5.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock. This means it's AU, folks. Alternate Universe. Some facts, features, and faces might be different than in canon. Don't like? Don't read. You've been warned.

Beta: Ithil-valon and River. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?  
Pairings: None so far.

**Part 11**

"Do you remember what it said?" Bobby asked, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them. He watched John and Dean stare at each other, almost oblivious to him and Sam.

Dean finally broke the tension, leaning forward again to take another scoop of eggs, then putting it down untasted. "I couldn't hear the words. Just this hum, a murmur. It was – it was okay, at first, but then it got higher and higher until it really hurt. That's when I woke up."

John nodded, still considering. "I heard words, but just like you, mostly a hum. Squeal, like feedback. Then two words, repeated. 'Have Faith.' That was it, have faith, over and over. Like a reassurance, or a prayer."

Sam was quiet, thinking. Bobby looked pensive, but he was finally able to come up with something else. "Have faith? That's a hell of a message, John. Have faith in _what?_" He got up and started clearing the table. He might be an old widower but he still tried to clean up after himself. "It's not like you're a regular church-goer, y'know. None of us are. Kinda hard in this lifestyle, even if we had the inclination."

Dean watched. It was almost like old times, listening to his Dad and Bobby hashing things out. He caught Sam's eye over the table and nodded slightly. Sam returned the nod, and suddenly everything was all right again. So what if Dean was a werewolf? Sammy still had his back and that meant everything. Dad back from the dead? Good deal, the three of them together would scare the crap out of any demon they came across. So he was going to hell in a couple months. Sam had promised to get him out of it, and he would. Dean had faith in _Sam_ and that was all that mattered.

Sam nodded again, like he'd read Dean's mind. Might have, with all that freaky mind mojo he'd had. Then again, all that had supposedly died with old Yeller. Yep, it was time to forget food (had Dean really thought that?) and start working. He got up and trucked his dishes to the sink without being told and headed for the living room. "Sammy, you comin? We got work to do." That voice, for one thing, another hunt if they could find one, anything to keep from just sitting here waiting. Waiting for that red-eyed bitch to come and get him. Well, he wasn't going. No way. Sam would find a way out for him. And until then, he'd keep busy.

Sam followed him out of the room and John raised an eyebrow at Bobby. "Okay, the werewolf thing aside, those two are hiding something," he demanded. "I know my boys. How many times has Dean actually left the room while we were talking shop? Name one. That kid is a sponge for lore and myth. For tactics. For _anything_ to do with the hunt."

Bobby dried his hands off and motioned for John to step outside with him. "You can help me pull a couple parts while those two read," he said reasonably. "Come on out in the shed and we can talk over that hulk you called a truck."

"Hey, be nice to my truck. Just because you don't have anything that good around here," John grumbled good-naturedly. It was like old times, he thought, and then a starburst of pain exploded over his left eye and he went reeling backward into the wall. "Singer, what the _fuck?"_

"You _jackass,_" Bobby spat furiously. "You told him that he had to watch out for Sam. That if he couldn't help Sam, he'd have to kill _his own brother._ What were ya thinkin, huh? What were you _thinking?_" He got right up in John's face, the anger in his clear. "That wasn't enough, though. You put the idea in that boy's head that he was worthless without his brother, how could you do that? Your son, John, _Dean _made a damn deal because _he thought Sam was more important!" _

John sent Bobby backward with a shove and stood panting, his own anger beginning to surface. "You think you can take me, you're welcome to try," he snarled as he put himself in a ready stance. He wasn't up to a fight, not by any stretch of the imagination, he was still hurting too bad, but he wasn't going to back down if Singer came at him again, either. "It's not like I was going to be around to keep an eye on them, was it?" He feinted to the left and got one good solid swing in on the older man but just barely. "Dean knew what was at stake when I told him that. He understood. Azazel was gathering his 'kids,' Bobby. He was going to turn them into his fucking _army._ Was I supposed to let Dean watch his brother turn into a _demon? _We _hunt _demons, Singer, we don't let them run loose just because they're inside someone we _know!"_ All of the anguish and pain over his decision was there to be heard by anyone listening. It had torn at him, had torn the heart right out of him, to think he might have had to kill Sam. It didn't matter that Dean had been left holding the bag; he'd meant to explain it further but there hadn't been time. Abruptly he dropped his hands and let the anger go. Bobby was right. He'd done something unforgivable to his boys and he'd better start trying to make amends. Then it _really _sank in. "Dean... made a deal?" His voice was soft, full of pain.

"Yeah, Dean made a deal." Bobby kept one wary eye on the other man, waiting for that next punch. He'd been lucky to get past John once, and he knew it. They were nearly the same age, but fanatical was the word for John Winchester when it came to training. Always had been. "Poor stupid kid got a year. One year. And that's half gone already." But all the fight had gone out of John with the realization that his oldest was looking at the same thing he'd already faced. An eternity in Hell, unless Dean could climb out. And even if he did, would he be himself? Bobby could see the horror in his friend's eyes, the sorrow, the endless pain. He'd felt it himself when he realized what Dean had done. He put his hands down. "Come on, you dumb bastard, let's go see what they've found."


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Complications  
Fandom: Supernatural

Author: DJ Sparkles  
Rating: FRAO (language, mostly, so far)

Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue. I'll put them back when I'm done.  
Spoiler Warning: Um, possible spoilers for all seasons so far… don't want spoiled, don't read. BIG spoilers for In My Time of Dying, Heart, All Hell Breaks Loose, Parts 1&2, and season 3.  
Timeline: Diverges from Canon after episode 3x03, Bad Day at Black Rock. This means it's AU, folks. Alternate Universe. Some facts, features, and faces might be different than in canon. Don't like? Don't read. You've been warned.

Beta: Ithil-valon and River.. You ladies just ROCK, you know that?

Dedication: To my Darling AJ, without whom I would never have survived the hard times. Rest well, my darling. You are sorely missed.  
Pairings: None so far.

Part Twelve

Dean was face down in a book of werewolf lore. Hard to read, really, since it was written in Old English, but he thought he was doing all right. Sam had the laptop open, as always, desperately searching for some form of cure for his beloved brother.

"Hey, Sam," Dean spoke as he marked a page with his finger and went looking for another book. He kept his eyes on the book spines while he spoke, still searching for the one referenced in the Old English volume. "Twenty bucks says Bobby tries to knock the crap out of Dad."

"No bet," Sam replied as he scanned page after page. "He won't try, he'll do it. Bobby throws a mean right hook, remember?"

"Yeah, but it's about all he's got. Dad's a hell of a scrapper. If he gets one good hit in, Bobby'll go down." Dean found the book and pulled it out, turning to the requisite page and growling in disgust. "Here, geek boy. I don't read Latin."

"You read exorcisms." Sam didn't look up. One of the pages had caught his attention until he realized that the formula presented was nothing but crap. Holy water didn't work on werewolves; they already knew that from bitter experience. "Bobby'll drop him like a brick. Dad's hurt, remember? He won't be able to keep up. Besides, neither one of them fights fair."

"Not from choice. Just tell me what it says, okay?" Dean didn't want to waste the brainpower on the Latin, not right now. Not when he was struggling to come to terms with new abilities and instincts from the werewolf side of himself. Even now, here safe at Bobby's, he was being inundated with new scents, new perceptions. It was almost overwhelming. "Dad may be hurt, but he's still strong. He made it here on his own, right?"

"Yeah, but he probably used up a lot getting here. Look, Dean, if you're so interested in who'd win, why don't you go watch?" Sam was getting frustrated with the lack of information he was finding. Or rather, the absolute glut of _mis_information. "You know as well as I do that Bobby took him out there to knock some sense into him."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean sat back down after placing the volume carefully onto the desk with Sam. One thing Bobby had taught them was respect for books. Yeah, he'd tear out a page if the occasion called for it, but not from one of these. His rear twinged with a remembered sting from long ago swats for defacing the precious resources. "He'll end up on the ground. Dad was a Marine, remember?"

"So was Bobby." Sam was perusing the book Dean had left him and coming up empty. The Latin flowed easily through his mind, so easily it was a little frightening, but he put it down to the constant need for it in their hunting. He'd long ago memorized several exorcism rituals. "This isn't worth much, Dean. All the ingredients are ancient plants, nothing we can get now. I don't even know if there are evolved species for these."

"Bobby was a Marine?" The man grew even more in Dean's estimation. "How come you know that and I don't?" He paused for a moment, listening. The two older men had come to an understanding, it seemed. They were on the way back to the house, and Dean had a moment's pause when he realized he was hearing them from across the salvage yard. Just how keen _was_ his hearing, now? His sight didn't seem any better, but his hearing and his nose, well, those were in overdrive.

"Because I listen." Sam's fingers were again on the keyboard, and he let out a groan of pure exasperation. "This is getting us nowhere, Dean. We need to find something else to do. We're driving ourselves crazy here." He tapped out another sequence, working on his secondary goal. He had to save Dean from his own folly. He had to find a way to break that deal.

"Hey, I listen." Dean thought how understated that comment really was in the face of his transformation. "They're on the way in." He flopped back down into his own chair and picked up another ancient text. "You do what you need to, Sam, but you start working on deal breakers and I _will_ stop you." He had to throw that out because he _knew_ Sam was trying to find a way to get him out of the deal, and if he tried, he'd die. If the deal was broken, Sam would die, and Dean couldn't stand that thought. Abruptly he tossed the book onto the table, feeling restless. "Let's go see who's still standing."

TBC….


End file.
